Mrs D is Going Without

by Lotta Dann

  Allen Carr says the definition of an alcoholic is someone who has lost control over their intake. Well, I had definitely lost control over my intake. I think I lost it back in the late 1980s actually. But, sorry Allen, I’m not ready to own that label yet.

  My sober buddies online don’t like this, and make their feelings clear with their comments on my blog.

  Comment from ‘Nate’

  Be an alcoholic, that’s just what we are, it’s a badge of honour to say you do things ‘thoroughly and to exhaustion’ in a way.

  It’s sort of revolting to accept you have a label that you have always reviled, but we are much more than just one label.

  Comment from ‘Recovery Jane’

  Labels only hold the weight you allow them to. In the beginning I couldn’t handle the alcoholic label but once I was defeated I could. Simply because I began to see how it fit. Don’t label yourself if you don’t want to but don’t allow the lack of a label to grey that line in the sand you’ve drawn.

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Until I really admitted to myself that I was/am an alcoholic I couldn’t give up. And if I had managed to give up without that admission I could have remained in denial, secretly convincing myself that I wasn’t really. Just had to cut down a bit . . . etc., etc. Really just setting myself up for a relapse.

  I’m not exactly feeling the online sober love on this one. Whatever. Don’t care. I am not an alcoholic. I am a dysfunctional drinker who couldn’t control it and had to take it away and is now learning how to live without it. I’m not going to label myself an alcoholic and I’m not going to let that lack of a label stop me from forging ahead with my goal of learning how to live happily without alcohol.

  Live happily without alcohol. It has to be happily. I can’t bear the thought of being a miserable sober git for the rest of my life. I have to be able to go out and genuinely enjoy myself, not feel like I’m missing out and pretending to have a good time. So far my sober social forays haven’t been entirely successful on this front. I’ve struggled a bit, forced smiles onto my face and done weird things like fetching alcohol for others or overindulging on energy drinks. Fashion failures haven’t helped, either. I’m determined there will be no more inside-out clothing, shoes that don’t fit or skirts that restrict movement. And I am determined that I won’t feel edgy and wound-up all the time.

  Lucky me, I’ve got plenty of opportunities ahead to practise my new sober socialising techniques (just a little bit of sarcasm there). The silly season is upon us, and not only do we have a bunch of Christmas parties to attend, but we’re also hosting a big family group at our house for four days. Excellent.

  I gird my sober loins and plunge headfirst into a busy weekend of parties. Friday afternoon we take the kids along to a Break fast team barbecue at Corin’s colleagues’ house. I’ve met most of his workmates already but I do feel nervous as we pull up to the house, which is annoying. I’m not usually shy. But then again I’d usually be gratefully accepting a nice big glass of wine pretty soon after walking in the door. Not being able to do that has got me off-kilter (to say the least).

  I feel like I’ve totally flipped my world upside-down, to be brutally honest.

  Walking down the long driveway toward the house, I try to work my brain with my new techniques. ‘What does this social event offer?’ I ask myself. ‘This is about Corin’s team celebrating the end of a busy year, summer arriving and Christmas being around the corner. This barbecue is about congratulating a colleague who has a wedding coming up, the kids having a fun time with the pool and lots of yummy food. This is not about me and whether I’m drinking or not.’

  I feel like bursting in the door, shouting ‘Here comes a whole new me!’, but I don’t, of course. Instead I slope in nervously, smile and say hi to people, dart my eyes around to see what drinks are out, and try to chat without sounding unnatural.

  The hostess asks me what I’d like to drink and when I answer my voice comes out a bit shaky. What the fuck? I almost want to slap myself. This isn’t normal. But then what is normal for me nowadays? My old normal response would have been a chirpy ‘Oohh . . . a wine thanks!’ but my new normal is a wobbly ‘Lemonade please’. She doesn’t know me at all so doesn’t bat an eye. Maybe she thinks I’m not really much of a drinker. Ha! If only she knew the truth.

  Time passes. I chat a bit. (‘I’m working on my Master’s thesis.’) Admire the new house. (‘Fabulous walk-in wardrobe.’) Help the kids into their togs. (‘Don’t worry, it’s not that deep.’) Calm the kids down when they freak out about how deep it is. (‘Just sit here with me for a while.’) Admire the whole baked fish and the chocolate fountain. (‘Gourmet delights!’) And there comes a point where I realise I’m relaxed. No one else gives a shit that I’m not drinking alcohol and even I begin to feel like I don’t give a shit. Just before the meal is served I’m standing on the deck talking to a new workmate of Corin’s and we’re having a laugh and I have this shocking little realisation that I’m not bothered that the glass I’m holding has lemonade in it. When we all sit down for lunch and speeches are being made for the groom-to-be, I’m stoked for him but mostly I’m just so stoked for myself that I’m actually doing this barbecue sober and it’s fine!

  I’m ridiculously happy driving home and getting into bed later on.

  Saturday morning I wake up feeling bright and oh-so-proud of myself. Most of the day is spent taking the kids to a Christmas party that TVNZ throws for the children of all staff. I’m happy amid the noisy madness, moving around fetching food, clutching balloon creations and helping the kids on and off the bouncy castle. Last year I was at this same party with a raging hangover after writing myself off completely at a concert the night before (this was the night I fell over backwards for no reason other than that booze had taken my balance away). It’s such a blessed relief not to be dealing with this chaos with a pounding head this year.

  We’re knackered driving home but there’s no let-up in this weekend of Christmas party madness. Corin and I now have to get ready to go to yet another TVNZ Christmas function. This one is the big one. The entire News and Current Affairs department is descending on a hip downtown bar for a night of revelry. All the famous on-camera faces will be there, along with all the behind-the-scenes workers, and all their partners.

  I wear something safe and black, my sister comes over to babysit, and Corin and I go out for dinner together before hitting the bar. I feel a little edgy but get busy thinking my new sober thoughts, concentrating on what the night ahead has to offer: ‘Tonight is about us being out together without kids, about finally eating at the Malaysian restaurant we’ve been hearing so much about, about checking out a bar that I’ve heard is super-cool and watching his entire workplace celebrate the end of a busy year. Tonight is not about me and alcohol.’

  The Malaysian food is as delicious as all the reviews indicated it would be and, driving to the bar afterwards, again I work my brain to focus on the event ahead and make myself remember the awful sloppy drunk me that’s been emerging at parties recently.

  We manage to find a carpark a couple of blocks away from the bar. As we walk towards it I can see that it’s heaving. My heart starts beating so I cling to Corin’s arm and place a smile on my face for our entry.

  It’s hardly necessary—as soon as we step inside the door we get sucked in and swept up in the party. It’s dark and noisy and crowded and immediately I bump into someone I know.

  ‘Lotta!’ she cries. ‘Long time no see!’ She lunges towards me. ‘How are you? What are you up to nowadays?’ she asks with boozy breath.

  ‘Hey!’ I reply. ‘Well, actually, funny you should ask.’ I take a deep breath and then launch in. ‘If you really want to know I’ve recently made a big decision that I have to stop drinking because I can’t control alcohol so I’m learning all these new techniques to help me so that I don’t feel like I’m missing out. It’s fascinating to start looking at alcohol in a different light
and to realise what a fallacy it is and how we’re all brainwashed into thinking it makes everything better when it doesn’t . . .’

  20

  No, just joking. As if. I don’t think this is the time or place for me to rave on about my quest for blissful sobriety. ‘I’m great, thanks!’ is what simply comes out of my mouth and I start talking about my thesis research while Corin goes to fetch me a Red Bull from the bar. (I am having just one. I have learnt my lesson about energy drinks.) It does feel good to have a drink in my hand and I tell myself that for all anyone knows it could have vodka in it. I decide to pretend to myself that it is actually vodka and Red Bull and for some reason this private deceit relaxes me. I know no one probably gives a toss what I’m drinking but whatever works for me, right?

  There are quite a few people here who I know from my own work at TVNZ over the years and it’s fun chatting and catching up. I feel strangely cocooned in the dark party atmosphere and actually quite safe and calm. Some people are obviously drunk, some people aren’t. I don’t really care. It is what it is. I’m just concentrating on me and as the evening goes on I start to feel quite amazing. This night, this party, this one is a breakthrough. I don’t exactly go crazy on the dance floor but then it was never likely to be that sort of party for me, given this isn’t my current gang of workmates. I mingle and chat away until about 11 p.m. and then Corin and I decide we’ve had enough and slip quietly out the back door. I actually feel like I’m bouncing down the footpath as we leave. Yep, there’s definitely a geeky spring in my step walking back to the car. I actually did have fun!

  And, boy, I could get used to this driving home sober thing. Jason Vale was right. It feels so good getting behind the wheel! All the way home I’m wishing for a drink-driving checkpoint so I can show off how clever I am being.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 98)

  I’m just going to say this quietly because I don’t want to come across as all cocky and confident, and maybe this is another pink cloud floating by in my life (I love the whole pink cloud concept, why are they called pink clouds anyway?) but I just love love love love being sober. I have so much more self-respect. Someone once commented on my blog when I was going to an event and was nervous that I should ‘raise a glass of self-respect’ instead of booze and I thought that was such a great concept. My self-respect is so much higher now that I’m not feeling so horribly dysfunctional.

  And another lovely chap keeps commenting to me to ‘be kind to myself’ and I love that concept as well because it carries so much weight. It doesn’t just say be kind, it says look after, nurture, love, protect. All those things are true when you are being brave and making a big scary, almost unheard of (in my circle of life) decision to live without alcohol.

  I feel so much more ‘in touch’ with myself. This is a hard one to explain but when my brain isn’t affected by alcohol so much anymore, I can trust all my feelings and emotions, know that I’m feeling them honestly and fully and not under a cloud. Also I don’t have those little memories when they’re vague and I think ‘was I pissed when I thought that/said that/did that?’

  I just feel better. Emotionally and physically. I had a huge weekend with a barbecue on Friday night, two parties on Saturday plus hosting a lunch here on Sunday. Last night Mr D and I got into bed at 7.23 p.m.! and we were absolutely knackered, but I said to him how different it was to feel that exhausted feeling after a busy social weekend but without the headaches, sick guts or guilt.

  I actually can’t think of a single reason why I would want to go back to wine again. Hope I’m not getting lulled into a false sense of security.

  (Incidentally, parties are fine sober until about 11 p.m. when people start giving you sloppy hugs and stop making much sense and at that point slipping out the back door is advisable.)

  Sadly my self-satisfied sober joy doesn’t last. Monday comes, I’m tired, and at 5 p.m. I start hankering for a wine. Just a few thoughts, not a huge wave of them like it would have been 90-odd days ago when I was first sober, but they’re still there. I push the thoughts aside, visualise myself going to bed sober, get through the witching hours and retire early. Tuesday, same thing. This seems to be a pattern for me. I can manage social occasions okay, but in the quiet weekdays I struggle. It’s that bloody ‘empty space’ again. What does that say about me?

  I ponder on this as we creep closer to Christmas Day. I’ve got a lot to do for Christmas this year; we’re hosting a four-day extravaganza with ten-plus people descending on our house. I have to borrow mattresses just to fit everyone in. I’m trying to be cool and calm and cruisey and, you know, that low-maintenance version of myself that I so want to be. But with my life having flipped on its head and my brain all raw and sober all the time, I find myself getting really stressed as the day approaches. Can I possibly get through Christmas surrounded by drinkers and not-drink?

  If I do, it’ll be a big deal. For me, Christmas has always been about food and wine and wine and wine (unless I’m pregnant or breastfeeding). Last Christmas I started with bubbles at breakfast and didn’t stop drinking all day. I just kept a steady supply of booze going down my throat from 8 a.m. until about 9 p.m. . . . I didn’t fall over or vomit, but I’m pretty sure I was slurring in the afternoon and certainly would have had a distracted, boozy demeanour going on. We have a framed photo from that day of me and my dad, smiling with our arms around each other. I’m wearing a very expensive blue dress and a lovely brooch. There is a pink paper hat from out of a cracker on my head and I am leaning into Dad. To most people I probably look fine. But I look at it and just see bloated and drunk.

  This year (all going well) I won’t be blurry and distracted. I won’t look bloated in any photos (I’ve finally started losing weight—woohoo!), and I won’t slur my words. But will I be happy? Jury’s out on that one.

  One thing’s for sure, I can’t hide away. I can’t let the family down and I don’t want to be a glum non-drinker, goddamnit! I have to do this and do it sober and act like I’m fine and maybe I will be fine but if not at least I’ll come out the other side in one sober piece. Thankfully I’ve got my awesome blogging tool, my precious outlet, and I claw desperately for it as the 25th draws closer.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 107)

  My first sober Christmas. I’ve been looking forward to it actually. A chance to show everyone how happy I am sober. Oh clever sober me! Planning nice fresh ginger beer drinks and lime and mint crushed with ice and soda water. Super! Wonderful! Awesome!

  But here I am, four sleeps to go, it’s nearly midnight, I’m wound up like a top, my brain is whirring and I’ve just snuck quietly out of the bedroom to come write this blog in the hope that it will release some of the tension in my thoughts and I can get to sleep.

  I think I’ve been living in a lovely sober bubble for the last however-many days that it’s been since I took the wine away. Just me in my house with my lovely husband and sons and my neighbourhood of friends plus family, some close, some far away, all there on the phone and email etc.

  And now it’s Christmas and everyone is descending on us and I’m doing all the organising (which is fine, I’m an organisational geek) but there’s things being said and actions being taken that is the usual stuff of families but it’s like brutal fingers are poking, poking, poking at my bubble upsetting my quite delicate equilibrium. I don’t think I realised quite how delicate it was.

  It doesn’t help that I wrote in my last post that I loved ‘getting out of it’ and I’ve just been thinking of getting out of it lately. Just getting totally ‘out of it’. OUT of it. OUT OF IT. Just getting out of it.

  It’s not going to happen, though. Oh no siree bob. No fucking way. I’m going to grit my teeth and get through. And who knows, maybe this tension will pass and I’ll enjoy myself! I’m sure I will, actually. Once everyone is here in one place I can submit to the craziness and look in my boys’ faces and feel good for them and look in the mirror and feel good for myself because all I hav
e to do is not-drink and everything will be alright in the end.

  The blogosphere is awash with stressed ex-boozers writing posts just like mine. Sober shoulders are tensing right around the world and we’re all devising and sharing our coping strategies online. It’s awesome; I don’t feel the slightest bit alone in my sober stress, despite my family not really getting what a big deal this is for me. Through the magical entity that is my blog, a community of likeminded people is supporting and fortifying me. The camaraderie that is floating around the internet is priceless.

  Comment from ‘Sunny’

  Good luck Mrs D. Remember, it’s the first drink that does the damage. Don’t pick up the first one and you won’t get drunk. There are no days off if you are an alcoholic.

  Comment from ‘Milly’

  Day 100 for me, and you and me and all of us out here in the sober blogosphere are going to soldier on through this holiday season.

  Comment from ‘Annabel’

  This will be my first sober holiday. I had a meltdown about a week ago where I felt completely overwhelmed with everything I had to do and all the feelings that go along with that. I’ve never had to actually deal with them before. Things feel better now and I bet you can get to that place too. The one thing that keeps me going is how miserable I was this time last year when I was drinking heavily. That was a very Un-Merry Christmas. Good luck to you!

  In the final few days before everyone arrives I get busy organising the house and stocking the cupboards. For the past few weeks we’ve had emails flying around the family developing a delicious menu. I’ve received everyone’s financial contribution and race around the city picking up special deli products, fresh fruit and vegies, and gourmet meat from the butcher. I have let it be known that I’m not interested in discussing or purchasing the alcohol. It was a little nerve-racking doing this but I’m trying to be brave. I’ve got no idea what everyone is thinking about my not-drinking. I haven’t heard much, other than ‘good on you’, which is nice. At least no one has tried to convince me to keep drinking. On the flip side, nor are they asking me much about it. It’s all largely going unsaid which is . . . I don’t know what that is, actually. It just is what it is.